Silence enveloped the room decorated with red and golden lanterns. The scent of sandalwood mixed with the night breeze. I stood in the middle of the room, my fingers clasping the folds of my sleeves, watching my brother kneel gracefully before the king.

Wu An, the young emperor who ascended the throne too early, stood stiffly. His eyes were restless, his hands rubbing each other, as if trying to erase something invisible. My brother bowed respectfully, moving slowly, as a concubine should. However, when they were only an inch apart, Wu An stepped back. His body stiffened like a small animal cornered. He shook his head, his breath hitching. My brother reached out, trying to touch Wu An's arm.

Then a quick movement. A rough push. My brother staggered. The room froze. Wu An wrung his own clothes, his face pale under the light of the lantern.

…he was pitiful.

Wu An was not the king he had hoped for. He was not a brave leader, but a child lost in a world that gave him no room for tenderness. The throne was not his to begin with, but his brothers had died, leaving him in the clutches of his mother—a clever but cruel empress who had molded her son into a puppet.

He did not hate my brother. He was afraid. Wu An had never been comfortable around adult women. He was more at ease around little children, perhaps because they did not demand him to be something he was not. But here, surrounded by the demands of being a true king, he was like a bird forced to fly with wings that had not yet grown.

I stared at him. I knew I should help my brother, but a strange attraction made me walk to the king

"Are you okay?"I looked at him softly, looking directly into his eyes until Wu An finally calmed down, looking into my little boy's eyes

That night, in the chaos, I realized—Wu An was not the strong and decisive king the old stories told. He was just a child trapped in a destiny he did not want.